


Two Left Feet

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dancing, Flirty Castiel (Supernatural), Flustered Dean Winchester, Ghosts, Haunting, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Post-Season/Series 14, Restaurants, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 19:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: After so long in the family business, you need to carve out your own moments to relax. And what better time than immediately after freeing a ghost from its tether to the mortal plane. Especially after nearly dying from its hands.Although if the ghost didn't kill him, Dean is sure Cas will. Asking him to dance was a tempting offer, one Dean knows would draw him close enough to the sun that his wings might melt. He happily takes Cas up on his offer.Will the free fall be worth it?





	Two Left Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow, another fanfic based off the clip from the s14 gag reel?
> 
> Don't worry though, unlike all those other ones this is written by ME lol.
> 
> Today was a glorious day, and I would be remiss if I didn't add my own piece to the patchwork in celebration of the content delivered today. I hope you enjoy mine like all the others before it!

Dean drops onto the floor, spectered hands around his neck dissolving into wispy dust. He stutters a gasp while trying to calm his rapid heart beat, vision slowly becoming more defined. Enough that he can see the outline of the bulbs hanging overhead and not confuse them for strange, indoor stars.

A hand jumps into view, flexed and waiting. Sam arches a brow at him, “Are you gonna stare at it or…?”

“Give me a break,” Dean sighs, grabbing Sam’s hand. His brother hauls him upwards, Dean wobbling momentarily. “You weren’t the one nearly choked out by the kinky ghost.”

“You’d prefer he attack in a bedroom or something?”

“Shut up…” He pokes at his neck, wincing. Their ghost left its mark on Dean in a way he won’t forget for a couple of weeks. Dean hopes they can stop by a pharmacy on their way to the motel, otherwise he’ll need to invest in some turtlenecks.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn. A break after all the resurrected hijinks Chuck dumped on their doorsteps. Something easy they could handle if their hands were tied or they were blindfolded. Sam showed them the article three days ago about people choking on their food in this restaurant. While not unusual, five people choking in the span of two hours meant the case fell into the hunters' jurisdiction. Sam pressed their suits, Dean readied their I.D.s, and Cas loaded the fresh pound of salt they bought into Baby’s trunk.

Not even a day in Lubbock Sam figured out who their ghost was. The owner’s daughter was talking to them a few feet away from where Dean stood now, telling them about her father. How he started Sweet Ray’s Home Foods to bring people together and have them care about what they eat. And that in his twilight years he felt all the work he did went nowhere. People don’t care about food today - all they want is ambience and presentation. Because Sweet Ray’s was losing more than they were making Ann Marie fed the belly of the trend beast.

“Every time I look at the portrait of Daddy I feel like he’s disappointed in me,” she said, frowning at the kind smile on the older man’s face. Hand poised on his hat as if caught mid-tip.

“Felt like people were disrespecting his food,” Sam whispered to him, “all the people who choked were known food bloggers in the area…” Clearing his throat, he asked, “I’m sure he’s proud of you for staying with the family business… a lot of people are. Local place, been in the area for years… His burial must’ve been well attended?”

She screwed her face tight, considering the question. Dean worried she wouldn’t answer. Deem it too invasive and not important for the case. Luckily she said, “Wasn’t any burial. Came into this world as dust and that’s how we’re gonna go out…”

With their graveyard plan turning to ash he was worried they’d have to do more detective work. Risk tripping over a sore nerve and being cast off from the restaurant before finding the haunted object. But Cas came in with the most important observation. He stared up at the portrait long after the rest of them had their fill. “Your father’s hat,” he asks, “It’s remarkable.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she asked, glancing at it again, “Custom made. Anniversary present from momma - wore it all the time. Wanted it to be cremated with him but I… I couldn’t part with it. So I have it sitting where he always had it, on a bust of Clint in my office.”

Tether found they quickly wrapped up the interview. As Sam left their contact info with Ann Marie, Dean pulled Cas to the side. “Good job pinning the hat. What made you think of it?”

“I honestly didn’t think the hat would be so important,” Cas said, “I only wanted to know if they sold others like it. Thought it might look nice on you…”

Cas walked away, leaving Dean with a flushed face and a mind stuck in an endless loop searching for the correct response. Neither mentioned it again for the rest of the day. Not when they had all the time to kill in the late afternoon where they filled the silence with local news and bad reruns of shows they haven’t seen. Nor as Dean went to grab the hat from the office, touch lingering while he handed his lighter over.

Except he passed a mirror, and Cas’s words returned with full force. He wondered what he might look like in it as well. Dean only had a second to admire it, though, as popping up behind his reflection was the ghost they were hunting. It flung him out of the office and into the dining area, disturbing many of the tables and chairs. Then, without letting up, Ray appeared above him and clung to his neck like a stubborn tie.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn, but Dean guesses he might be too old for even those anymore.

Cas enters from the kitchen, beers in hand. “I know it’s not a substitute for angel mojo, but,” he offers one to Dean, “it’ll make you feel better?” His neck burns from the weight of Cas’s stare. Thinking about times when all he needed was to brush up against Dean to fully heal him. Except when Chuck left he took all the power with him, meaning Cas was as human as everyone else. A thrilling but _terrifying_ thought.

Dean thanks him with a weak smile, half his face barely finding the energy to twitch. Accepting the bottle, he takes a healthy sip from it and collapses onto a nearby chair that _ wasn’t _ overturned.

Sam joined, sitting across from him. Cas opted to lean against the nearby bar.

“Hat burn nicely?”

“Still smoldering when I left it,” Sam said, “Cas?”

“It’s gone,” he told them, “I kept the remains in the skillet, though. Along with a note apologizing to Ann Marie. Hopefully she can add it to her father’s ashes.” Cas glanced away from them, sipping at his beer.

“As long as you didn’t sign off on it then that’s fine…” Dean trails off as Cas pushes off the bar and over to the nearby jukebox. He fiddled with it silently while his backside faced the brothers. Meeting Sam’s curious gaze for a beat, Dean returned to staring at his friend’s rumpled trench coat. “Whatcha doing there, Cas?”

“It’s too quiet in here,” Cas says, “Since we exorcised her father and burnt her hat, I’m sure Ann Marie won’t mind us listening to a song or two.”

“Or drink a few of her beers,” Sam chuckles, sipping from his own bottle.

“That too.” He turns around and smiles, “Any recommendations?”

Dean waves his drink, “Whatever you want… as long as you got the change, that is.”

Cas digs in his pocket for a quarter, refocusing on the records inside the jukebox. Finding a loose coin, Cas slips it into the slot and chooses. A soft melody strums through the speakers as slow and sweet as molasses. He sways on the spot to the music.

It’s an enchanting song, the singer crooning in a deep twang to accompany his guitar playing. Cas twirls, his trench coat fanning behind him. He peeks one eye open at them and frowns. “This isn’t right.”

“Don’t know about that,” Dean says, “looks pretty right to me.”

“No I meant,” he sighs, advancing towards their table. “I shouldn’t be dancing alone. It’s so… _ awkward _. One of you should come dance with me.”

Dean’s grip on the bottle’s neck tightens. He swallows around the bundle of nerves in his throat, made tougher by how the ghost squeezed it. Cas keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s as he steps closer. Only at the last minute he switches over to stand by Sam. “Would you care to join me, Sam?”

Sam schools his features to hide how amused he is. He shakes his head, “Sorry, Cas, I wouldn’t be any good. Was born with two left feet.”

“Shame,” Cas hums, returning his attention to Dean, “Were you, then?”

The haze Dean’s trapped him blocks out most of his hearing. Fluttering his lashes he asks, “Was I what?”

“Born with two left feet?”

Thrown, Dean answers honestly with a meek ‘no’.

“Good,” Cas grins, teeth unfurling like the bright, white banner of Dean’s surrender, “Then come dance with me.”

Disagreement bubbles within him, burst by the sharp blue of Cas’s gaze. He sighs and finishes off his drink. “You know I can’t say no to you, angel.”

Tensing, Dean waits for Cas to pull away from him. Except he never does. Never rages or cries or leaves like he expects him to, like he thinks he should. The first time Dean used that nickname was one tiresome night after putting down some ghouls. They gathered in the kitchen, too exhausted to find their rooms. Barely conscious he asked his friend, “Angel could you put on the coffee?”

No caffeine could compare to the adrenaline shooting through him after saying that. He bit his lip and glanced over at Cas, hoping he hadn’t heard him. But Cas nodded and dug inside the cabinets for the K-cups.

Dean tried apologizing between sips of his coffee. Cas wouldn’t accept it, telling him it was okay. “I might not be _an_ angel anymore,” he sighed, running his thumb against the rim of his mug, “yet I’m glad I can be… _ your _ angel.”

He sealed that tender moment in the walk-in freezer of his mind so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, along with every other uncomfortable thought Dean has about Cas. If Dean didn’t focus too much on those feelings than he wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment that would surely follow.

“Dean?” Cas disturbs him from his trance, “Before the song ends?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls himself forward and into his friend’s space. “C’mere,” he says, dragging him closer with a hand at his back. His other hand tangles with Cas as they sway into the makeshift dance floor the ghost created.

Cas’s hand rests at his lower back. Even if he is human now it still burns like Cas pours all his grace through this point of connection. His head drifts close to Dean’s in a way that forces every nerve to spark and ready for the inevitable. While they share orbits and their breaths mingle, Cas never gets close enough to press skin against skin. Instead leaning away to sway onto his heels.

It’d be easy for Dean to leap first. Their fingers are already tangled together, fit so perfectly Dean can’t believe he’s actually allowed to hold Cas in such a way. His face pinches with the forced tightness he inflicts on his expression. If he let it slip he might scare Cas with the pure fire and delight wanting to break free. If their cheeks did happen to brush or Cas’s eyelashes tickled his nose Dean might burst. Lose all consciousness and only awake after doing something he would regret never being able to remember.

The song starts trailing off and Cas’s expression falters. Like he wants another minute of dancing, to spend more time with him. Dean would trade anything for the song to never end, so he and Cas could dance around each other into eternity. Unable to do that he tries to make the last few chords special and twirls Cas around.

“Hey!” Sam calls, “You want me to throw you a rose?”

Immediately remembering their audience, Dean’s face flushes a bright pink. Dean steps away from Cas and strides towards the exit. “Should probably be getting out of here anyway…”

Dean has his hand on Baby’s door when he realizes finding his keys is impossible. Because Cas never let go of his hand. Or, more embarrassingly, Dean won’t let him leave.

“Uh, sorry there, Cas,” Dean starts, fingers twitching in his hold, “didn’t mean to… leave with you like that.”

“I didn’t mind, Dean,” Cas says, smiling at him like how the sun parts through clouds,“It is rather late, isn’t it? At least we managed to have one dance…”

“Half a dance,” he corrects him, cringing.

“Half a dance…” Cas repeats, expression never faltering, “then we should finish it at some point, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Might I confess something?” he continues, mouth dipping close to the shell of his ear. Dean’s thoughts stretch and thin until finally his sanity snaps. He nods, not trusting his voice to crack like he was a teenager all over again. Cas chuckles, breath ghosting and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Seeing the ghost mark you up like that… makes me sad that I cannot remove those bruises like I used to. But I have a solution that would… _ satisfy _both of us.”

His hand not caught in Dean’s slowly rubs at Dean’s neck. There’s no mistaking the subtext, a heady stare following his electric touch hammering the point home.

Dean’s lips stretch wide in a bright grin. “I’d like that.”

Sam barges in, shotgun in one hand and the bag of salt tucked under his arm. “Thanks for helping me clean up, guys,” he says, “Really appreciate it.”

Usually whenever Sam clumsily knocks into one of his and Cas’s moments Dean flings himself away faster than a bullet. Except he can’t find any reason to tear himself from Cas’s side, rooted to the ground happily.

“Catch,” he says after a quick dip into his pocket.

Sam panics, nearly dropping the salt to keep the keys from falling to the ground. “What? Want me to drive?”

“I got choked out by the ghost, it’s the least you can do,” Dean smirks, stepping in time with Cas to the backseat, “Besides… my hands are gonna be pretty busy.”

“Gross. I better not catch you two getting heavy in the rearview mirror.”

“Then don’t be a perv, Sammy.”

Sam sighs and drops the argument, bypassing them to go towards the trunk. Dean opens the door and tumbles into Baby clutching Cas. They giggle like they don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders. As light and free as smoke off a freshly lit cigarette, rising above the cinders they’ve left in their wake.

“Hey, angel?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Thanks for asking me to dance.”

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

“I can’t say no to you, angel,” Dean whispers, “not now… not ever.” They kiss, a simple touch of their lips against each other. It’s over faster than he can blink. But it’s okay. Dean knows there are more kisses waiting for him. More kisses, more dancing, and more of his angel.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think?
> 
> Drop a kudos/comment below to let me know! :D


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